


Proof of Humanity

by Snickfic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Captivity, Established Relationship, Kinks, M/M, Tight Spaces, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: Yes, they were still locked in a box, pitch black and just barely large enough for the two of them. Possibly they’d been buried alive, but to look on the bright side, as Martin had put it, they might just have been abandoned in a shipping container on a dock somewhere.





	Proof of Humanity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/gifts).



> Set in some nebulous time late in S3.

He’d woken Martin up, he could tell. Underneath him, Martin’s breath hitched as he took stock: yes, they were still locked in a box, pitch black and just barely large enough for the two of them. Possibly they’d been buried alive, but to look on the bright side, as Martin had put it, they might just have been abandoned in a shipping container on a dock somewhere, like the guy in that one statement. Either way, Jon was an avatar, and probably whoever locked them both in here wouldn’t want to _really_ piss off the Eye, right?

_Right, Jon?_

Jon’s now-familiar, nauseous twist of guilt quickly lost ground to more immediate concerns. Jon squirmed again, despite himself.

“You all right?” Martin asked. The words came inches from Jon’s ear, because that was all the room they had. 

“Fine,” Jon said shortly.

Martin let this pass without comment. Usually he talked so much, soothing and fluttering; it was only in recent weeks had Jon come to realize how much judgment there was in his silences. “How long’s it been?” Martin asked instead.

“Hell if I know,” Jon said wearily. “I can’t really tell time in here.” Pity, that. Seemed like it’d be a useful gift for someone with a supernatural vocation for record-keeping. “Anyway, I don’t know when you dropped off.” Or how, with Jon literally lying on top of him, but Martin insisted it was the more comfortable option. The box was too narrow for them to lie side by side, and they’d each gotten an accidental knee to the balls to prove it, when they’d tried.

If Martin kneed him anywhere in the vicinity of his balls now, they were both going to regret it. Jon lay very still on top of him. He tried not to think about his several cups of tea before they set off, however many hours ago, and how they had all most certainly migrated to his bladder by now. He squirmed minutely, which only sent a spike of pain through his lower gut.

“Jon,” Martin said, voice steely. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing—”

“I can’t force you to tell me the truth, but that doesn’t make you good at lying.”

Jon sighed against Martin’s shoulder and gave up. “I didn’t go to the loo before we left.”

The silence that followed seemed very long. “Well,” Martin said at last, sounding a little strangled. “That’s understandable. We’ve been—we’ve been in here a long time.”

“Sorry,” Jon muttered, which was _wholly inadequate_. Not just for the fact that he was very probably going to piss all over Martin in the very near future, but for the fact that they were even here, locked in a box, when Martin should be at home in an ordinary kind of tumbledown flat where there had never been any worm infestations whatsoever.

Martin shifted, cursing softly as the box reverberated with the sound of bone hitting wood. Then Martin snaked his hand up Jon’s side and stroked along his back, over his jumper. “It’s all right, you know.”

“Martin, exactly which part of this is _all right_?” Jon demanded. As soon as the last word was out, he wanted to kick himself.

“The part where you’re going to piss on me,” Martin said promptly.

For a moment, it was utterly silent inside the box. Jon didn’t think either of them even breathed. At last, carefully, Jon said, “I don’t understand.”

Martin sighed. “I kind of—like the idea of it. I dunno. Everyone’s got fantasies about something weird, haven’t they? I know you all think I’m this wet blanket, oh, poor Martin, never pulled in his life, but I still _think_ about things.”

In a very even tone that hopefully could not be interpreted as a question, Jon said, “And you think about piss.”

“Yes?”

Jon rested his head against Martin’s shoulder and laughed softly. Laughing wasn’t such a great idea—at this point, it felt as though the slightest jostle might break the dam open—but he couldn’t help it. Anyway, Martin had a very comfortable shoulder, even if it was a bit scratchy with the wool of his jumper, and it smelled of him, which Jon appreciated more than he’d ever have expected two months ago. “Well,” Jon said at last, “that really is very fortunate, considering.”

“I guess,” Martin said cautiously.

“I mean, you might as well enoy it, since I don’t think I’m going to be able to help it.” There was a kind of rush in admitting it. He wasn’t going to be able to help it. He was going to piss all over Martin.

Martin stroked along Jon’s back again. It really was very nice. It was comforting. “It’s all right,” Martin said. “You don’t have to help it. You can just—do it.” The last words were a little breathless. Martin’s hand settled at the small of Jon’s back and pressed down, not enough to have any kind of effect, just encouragement.

“Martin,” Jon groaned. He pressed his face into Martin’s neck. The movement sent another shiver of pain through his gut. God, he really had to go. “Can you imagine the stench.”

“Can’t be helped,” Martin said briskly.

“Look, I’m not going to just—I don’t want to be wet any longer than I have to.” Left unsaid: the possibility that it wouldn’t matter, in the end. That they wouldn’t escape this time.

“All right,” Martin said. He began stroking Jon’s back again. “Well, we’ve got time, haven’t we?”

Unexpected fondness welled up. Jon didn’t dare squirm into a better position, so he just brushed his lips against the nearest part of Martin he could reach, which was his neck. Someday, some threat or some kind of pain would once again break through even Martin’s relentless cheer. Maybe not for a while yet, though. Jon hoped not.

Time crawled. It was probably another twenty minutes before the ache in Jon’s gut built to a pain that persisted no matter how still he held himself. “Fuck,” he said softly.

Martin’s hand stilled. “You know, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t _injure_ yourself.”

“Fuck,” Jon repeated. He pressed his forehead to the scratchy wool of Martin’s jumper, and then he forced himself to relax, little by little. At the first sensation of wetness, his whole body seized up again.

“It’s all right,” Martin murmured. “You’ll feel better.”

Jon took a deep breath and, muscle by muscle, agonizingly, he let go. He forced himself to breathe through the next hint of leakage. Then he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. It poured out of him, a warm torrent washing into his trousers and then through them, soaking into Martin beneath. He clung to Martin and breathed in and out, in and out until it was over, and then he collapsed, exhausted with the effort of holding it in _and_ of letting it go.

“Better?” Martin asked.

Jon groaned. “Somewhat,” he said. Of course he was soaking wet now in piss that would cool far too quickly for comfort, and god, he had not been wrong about the smell. But it felt good, anyway. Which was to say, it was nice not to be in pain anymore, but also—

Jon put that thought away quickly. “You?”

“I’m all right.” Martin’s voice had gone noticeably squeakier. 

Now that Jon could focus on something other than his bladder, he noticed a tell-tale bulge pressed up against his hip. “Oh,” Jon said. “I could—?” Though he wasn’t sure that he could, actually. There wasn’t room to get any leverage.

“Better not,” Martin said, though he sounded disappointed. “I don’t really want to be sticky, too. Got enough problems, haven’t we?”

“I suppose,” Jon said. He relaxed against Martin and gripped his sleeve. Martin’s chest rose and fell soothingly, in time with his breath. Despite the damp and smell, Jon thought he might be able to doze now.

“Jon,” Martin said thoughtfully.

“Mm.”

“Do you suppose Mike Crew can piss?”

Jon blinked into the darkness, waiting for this to make more sense with time. It did not. “I can honestly say that I’ve never thought about it.”

“What about Michael? You know, the Spiral’s Michael.”

“I doubt it,” Jon said slowly. 

“Well, that’s good, then, right? You’re the Avatar, but you’re still _human_. More human than they are, anyway.”

Jon laughed, startled. “I suppose so, yeah.” He still had bodily functions, he still cared, he had Martin. “I—thank you, Martin.”

Martin squeezed his arm. “You’re welcome.”

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> And then they definitely get rescued, probably by Tim, because he is absolutely the last person Jon wants to see him covered in pee.


End file.
